While Rome Burns
by Trefoil-underscore
Summary: Red takes Arix out for 2 AM donuts but suddenly everything's on fire and they get recruited to help the Guard firefight and dammit Notch, this is not stress relief. This is the opposite of stress relief. May contain sneaky asides at YouTubers and bad language words. Takes place after The Mark and Stars.
1. Donut Dogma

"What I'm saying is that it's an _insult_ to the Creator to say that Notch is his full being. Notch is only the creative aspect of God, do you understand?"

Red sighed quietly and picked cookie crumbs off of an empty plate. Hon. Greg met his eyes over the heads of the two priests arguing in his living room and gave a sympathetic grimace. Red had been very good, bringing cookies, defusing one or two potential disagreements with observations on the weather, and not getting involved. Even when _this_ had started up. Well. It was nearly midnight and their guests showed no signs of leaving. Usually Red wouldn't mind, but listening without saying a word was beginning to make him feel like a ghost.

"What I'm saying is that that view is completely outdated. What's next? The world is made out of blocks?"  
"Actually," said Red, mildly surprised at the sound of his own voice, "That's a very interesting theory, and it's never been disproven." the two debaters looked up in surprise, having apparently forgotten that he was in the room.  
"Er—who is he, again?"  
Who is he, not who are you.  
"Red," said Hon. Greg, ignoring the speaker, "We're out of cookies." Red stood immediately. Thank Notch, he was giving him an excuse to leave.  
"I'll go get some, excellent idea." he fled the room and leaned against the closed door with a sigh of relief, then made some distinctly uncharitable faces. When he walked upstairs he was calmer—until he looked into his room. "Arix?"  
His friend and, as of recent times, roommate was slumped on the floor surrounded by not yet folded laundry, clutching an undershirt. He gave a small, hysterical laugh, the sort that can easily become crying. "Isn't it sad that this shirt's whole purpose of existing is to be worn underneath other things?" he looked up in response to Red's silence and began giggling at his expression.  
"Arix, stop that." why's everyone insane tonight? Arix caught his breath and folded the shirt slowly. "What's wrong?"  
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. I'm good. Fine."  
"You say that a lot." Arix hugged the shirt to his chest.  
"I said that," he said faintly.  
"Huh?"  
"Nothing. Shirts are weird though. Have you ever thought about how weird clothes are? Like, they're made out of plant tendon and shit."  
"Arix?" Arix had to stifle another attack of laughing.  
"Sorry. I haven't been getting much sleep."  
"I've noticed. What's wrong?"  
"Heh. Nothing unusual." Red sat down, motioning him to continue. "My arm's hurting, but it's been doing that."  
"Do you think you've strained it, using it in ways it's not accustomed to?"  
"No, my other arm. The one I don't have." Red looked curiously at him. "I know, it doesn't make sense. But it hurts."  
"That's not good."  
"Eh I don't know." Arix placed the shirt on the stack of folded clothes and smoothed the top. "It's not like there could be anything wrong with it, you know? Annoying as hell though."  
"So that's the cause for the tablets. You scared me, I thought you were turning into an addict."  
"Huh? Oh yeah. When did I show those to you?"  
"You didn't. I went through your pockets." Arix looked at him in surprise. "I was trying to find your keys because I'd lost mine." Arix nodded and looked down, rubbing the stump of his right arm. That wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie, Red mused. He had been happy to find the keys. He had been looking for the keys in the first place, right? Or had he just been going through Arix's pockets? Was that a lie? Dangit. He'd have to confess that later. He hated it. Not that he was ashamed, but Greg always looked so completely flabbergasted at the idea that he wasn't entirely truthful all the time. Greg made a terrible confessor. Whoops, Hon. Greg. He just seemed like a layman. Now that wasn't charitable at all. See, he was starting to rave as well. Arix wasn't the only one who needed more sleep, although Red had no real excuse, which made him angry at himself. Up until two in the morning doing reading you could do during the day? Really? "Hey. Want to go get donuts?" Arix looked up.  
"Now?"  
"I volunteered to fetch some cookies, but it's mainly an excuse to get me out of the house. I'm going to get something for myself while I'm there. You should come if you're not going to sleep."  
"No, I'm not sleeping."  
"Good," said Red, digging his wallet out of a convenient nook behind his chest, "put your shirt on and let's go. I'll meet you downstairs."

Arix got up and stuffed his clothes, folded and unfolded alike, into his chest and slammed it shut. Then, he paused. With a snort at his own stupidity, he reopened the chest, snatched the topmost shirt out and pulled it over his head. He worked his left arm through the sleeve and straightened it with his teeth, shook the shoulder seams into place, and reached across his body for the cuff of the right sleeve, which he tucked into his pants pocket so it wouldn't flap. He touched his hair and decided to leave it as it was, since it would take a long time to comb it at this stage and even longer to tie it back. He could manage by using a long tie and holding one end in his teeth, but it took a while, and Red was waiting. Arix pulled his fingers down to the level of his ears, where they got stuck in a knot and had to be worked out. His hair was a ratty, tangled mess that fell past his shoulders, a few fuzzy braids from months ago still knotted in. He couldn't bear to take them out. They were one of the main indications that he might be sane, that his memories might be the correct ones and not fever hallucinations. He hadn't been able to braid that well even with both hands. Besides, they'd be a real pain to take out at this point and he didn't want to cut them off. Arix stuffed his feet into his boots, scooped up some coins from the windowsill and dumped them in his pockets. He picked up his sword belt from the corner near the door and fastened it around his hips, then walked to the door before pausing.

The doll sat on the windowsill, looking at him. It was small, made of soft fabric, with fluffy brown yarn hair, blue stitched circles for eyes, cyan shirt and blue pants. He walked back, picked it up and pressed it against the side of his face, thinking. Finally he slipped it under his belt and brought it with him downstairs, stepping quietly past the door to the study where smartasses were arguing about the human condition and shit instead of doing something to, you know, improve the water systems or retake infected areas. Red was leaning against the doorframe, peering out through the diamond pane into the night. "It looks clear." Arix grunted. Red glanced at him, then at the doll tucked under his belt. "You're bringing that?"  
"What?" Red looked questioningly at him. "It's the middle of the night. Why, are we going to see someone important and you're afraid I'll embarrass you?"  
"No. You should get a jacket, it's cold."  
"Nah, I'll be fine."  
"Arix, it's cold."  
Arix made an unimpressed sound and pushed the door open, letting in a blast of air.

Holy shit it _was_ cold.

He really didn't care that much. The sting of cold seeping through his thin layers of clothing was invigorating, and he embraced it with a masochistic joy, racing on ahead of Red to draw out any critters that might be lurking in corners where the torchlight didn't reach. Red followed with his hands deep in his pockets, quarterstaff tucked in the crook of one arm.

 **A/N: I use all my own screenshots for the cover pics. But I'm also lazy. So for this one I just walked into the nearest village and set myself on fire. Solved.  
Also known as "Boring Conversation is Boring" (or, we hope, perhaps not?) and "Arix is Definitely Not Abusing Painkillers."  
Also the Hon. in front of Greg's name is not an abbreviation for Honorable. It's literally just "Hon." He likes people calling him Hon. I guess he was raised in the South.  
**


	2. Pastry Cat

"You 'nearly' argued with someone? That, I'd like to see," said Arix.  
"I wouldn't. I must be slipping."  
"Nah. You put up with a lot more than I would."  
"I'm not putting up with it very well, though. I've been restless lately. I should find something to do."  
"Besides your research?"  
"Yes, very funny. Research isn't real work."  
"No no, I was being serious."  
"Oh. Well, yes, then. It's not going anywhere at the moment."  
"Huh. Sorry."  
"You're secretly gloating."  
"Only a little," said Arix, frowning. "Alright, do you have any other ideas?"  
"No. I'm supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember? That rules out a lot."  
"Mm."  
"You think I'm being paranoid?"  
Arix thought about it. It was unlikely that the empire cared particularly about one priest who'd been keeping his head down. Then again, it hadn't been Arix coming downstairs for lunch to find thirty of his confreres dead on the floor and the courtyard full of the Imperial Guard. That made an impression.  
The Empire was still young. Not counting the short-lived candidates during the bloody power struggle in between rules, there had only been two emperors, Strandquist and his uncle(?). There were adjustments that had to be made and things that had to be learned. Such as, one does not speak out against the will of the emperor. Even if the emperor orders the death of all void-eyed humans. Quiet, unobtrusive protesting was allowed. The occasional unfortunate being could flee the city to die(?) in the Outlands. But you did not publicly protest (as the Church of the Creator had,) and you did not openly harbor large numbers of the void-eyed (one of Ithaka's crimes.)  
Arson, however, was totally fine. As long as you had a reason to suspect the area was infected, or said you did.

"Oh hello," said Arix, drawing his sword as a zombie limped out of an alley ahead. Red watched him, staff ready. Since his experiences outside the city (Red still wasn't clear on what had happened, especially since Arix had generally refused to talk about it after the first few days) he seemed less eager to fight anything that looked at him funny. He seemed tense when about to go into a fight and he fought sloppily—although, that was understandable. He was still adjusting to using his non-dominant arm.  
The zombie noticed them and began to haul itself in their general direction. Arix bounced nervously, then flinched as the zombie suddenly jerked backwards with a gurgling shriek.  
"Sorry, did you want to get that one?" Arix and Red looked up. A man in a loose brown coat was perched on the façade of a building, hands twined loosely around his short bow. He dropped down and came forward to join them. In the light, he had a thin, pleasant face with a perky look, sea-grey eyes and short golden hair. Arix squinted.  
"I know you… Kiko?"  
"Yeah! Memory been a bit funny for you lately?"  
"Just a bit."  
"Well, if you can remember Kikoskia, you can probably remember more important things, of which there are several. Good to see you out again, but why at this hour?"  
"We could ask you that as well."  
"Oh I'm always up late. I keep bad company, remember?"  
"We're going to get donuts."  
"At Sammy's? Excellent! Mind if I join you? I'm looking for some lost kids, and they're probably where the pastries are."  
"Rufert?"  
"That's one of them."  
"Sure. Good to see you being still alive. I mean, glad you're not dead. I mean, I didn't think you were, dead, you're a good fighter, I just—"  
"No no, I understand, I'm glad to be alive as well. I am also glad to see you being not dead. Being not dead is generally a good sign."  
"It is."  
"I'm so glad we understand each other!"

Red smiled at Arix and Kiko's banter. They seemed to get along well, and he was glad. Arix hadn't been out much. Red had met Kiko before, briefly, when Arix had dragged himself back to the city nearly dead. Kiko had hung around a bit asking how Arix was until he started to improve. At the time Red hadn't been sure if it was genuine concern or base curiosity, but it was looking like the former, now, which made him happy. Red decided that he didn't much mind being out late if it meant that Arix met a friend. He needed to talk to more than one person. Frankly, Red himself could get tired of Arix and only Arix and constantly Arix. He probably annoyed Arix as well, though he didn't know how. Their personalities were very different.

Sammy's Hot Buns was a corner store with a bright lantern hung below the sign, showing an orange cat curled around a pair of steaming breads. It had windows on both sides, giving it a very open feel, but it was also safe, as the windows were barred with steel, thin and unobtrusive but strong. No zombies would be interrupting their coalsteam break. Golden light blazed from the windows, visible from far down the street. Sammy got up early to bake the pastries for the next day, and as long as he was awake, the café was open.  
Arix fiddled with the zombie-proof latch, and Red mentally added a tally to his Decent Guy estimation of Kikoskia when he didn't offer to help, but let Arix fumble it into place himself and fling the door open.  
"—Wouldn't be such a jerk about other people's work—"  
"It was a bug, Rufert."  
"If you weren't so fookin useless!"  
"I was—"  
"You murdered it!"  
"I caught it for you."  
"You cracked the exoskeleton! It's useless!"  
"You know what, you can shut up—"  
"You absolute, fucking,"  
"Don't care"  
"FLOUNDERING cunt!" Rufert, the shorter of the two men standing inside, paused to catch his breath. His pale hair fell into his eyes, which were large, pale, and full of curiosity. At least, they would be under normal circumstances. At the moment they were bulging with resentment.  
"…." Klyka, the other, looked down at him blankly. His own hair, also pale, was shorter and stuck up. His eyes were a bright green. A crumpled-looking beetle with a bright shell lay on the floor between them. Klyka, still staring Rufert in the face, lifted one foot and stepped deliberately on the beetle. There was a crunching noise. Rufert's eyes got even larger. He opened his mouth, but seemed at a loss for words. Klyka turned away, walked to the bar, and sat down with his back to him.  
"Fuck you," said Rufert finally, looking at the flattened beetle. A blob of cookie dough landed in his hair and he flinched. "Eaaugh!"  
"Enough," said Sammy, pointing a wooden spoon menacingly first at Rufert, then Klyka. "Tone it down. Both of you. Children come here."  
"It's two in the morning," said Klyka. Sammy glared at him.  
"The stench lingers." Klyka looked unamusedly at him and sipped a cup of tea.

The three men in residence noticed the three from outside when Kikoskia, who'd been trying with slowly failing efforts to stifle his laughter, began snickering audibly. Sammy looked up with a grin.  
"Oh hello! Kiko, right? And—Erix?"  
"Arix."  
"Erix, right. Sorry, it's been a while since you've been in, hasn't it?" he glanced at the loosely dangling sleeve. "Life been a bit rough?"  
"It's Arix."  
"Erix?"  
"….Forget it."  
Kikoskia, whimpering with laughter, finally caught his breath. "So here's where you two have been hiding out."  
"Ya." "Found us."  
"Did you save anything for me?"  
"What, you think we've got money for you?" Klyka turned his head just enough to shoot a glance over his shoulder. "Buy your own donuts. Actually, you can buy us some while you're at it."  
"And Red," said Sammy, grinning, "I definitely know you."  
"Hello Sammy." Red had been spending a lot of time sitting in the café lately, spending money he didn't feel like he had earned on superfluous food and drink, meditating on life, trying to avoid the drama at the rectory, and in general being a completely useless excuse for a human being. Sammy was friendly and the refreshments were always good. It was a pleasant place to sit and feel like an utter failure.  
Arix and Kikoskia and Rufert, he noticed, were all sitting at the bar with Klyka, ordering coalsteam. Looked like they weren't planning on sleeping at all that night. Arix looked over his shoulder. "Are you joining us?"  
Red joined them.

 **A/N: Whew. Better now.  
Now, I'm still up doing reading assignments, and it's late, so I can't say anything for what I'll be like in the morning after I write this…  
Edit: Totally fine. I'm making scones later! **

**IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER!  
There are several characters named after YouTubers in this chapter. Things to know:  
1) I know next to nothing about the real human beings they correspond to.  
2) My characters are my characters and share only the names (and as far as my own ideas of them go, the voices) with their namesakes irl.  
3) I'm only doing this as a friendly tribute to the real people. Said Mythos characters are not meant to imply anything whatsoever about the real people they are named after. If you wish, you may completely ignore the fact that they are at all related to YouTubers.  
Thanks. It's just… YouTuber fanfiction tends to weird me out sometimes, so I wanted this to be clear.  
There are three based on less-popular YouTubers in the same friendgroup. Kikoskia is my favorite and has an awesome vanilla MC LP. Rufert always plays MC but doesn't record. Klyka is just here for the hell of it. ****He did get shouted at by Rufert in pretty much this manner in a Cthulhian tabletop game.** **  
There's also a reference to another internet dude. Immaterial internet cookies to the first reviewer who guesses who the orange-cat-loving baker is a reference to. Hint: His nickname is only a few letters removed from his in-story name. And that's all I'm going to say because he doesn't need my publicity, he's already got a fandom. Deservedly, I'll admit.**

 **Thank you, Lewis Forkin, that is indeed what we are here to do. If you are impatient for new material you could read some of my old stories. And make an account (that's not your real name!) so I can properly thank you!**


	3. Finally the Plot Shows Up

It was an off night for the Guardsmen, Rufert and Klyka, but only a single night, and it wasn't worth the hassle of switching their sleep patterns to stay up for just one day.  
"Nah we don't stay in the barracks! You think we're crazy?" said Rufert, looking up. His eyes were dark. Then light. He had void eyes. So that was the reason for the ridiculous bangs. They must not do much, though, considering that he needed them out of the way to see. Arix stared at the black circles in the pale blue rings. Steve had had eyes like that, but the blue was much darker, like evening sky. Rufert's eyes were the color of spring water. Arix touched the doll's hair with a fingertip.  
"You don't like Turner Hall."  
"Nobody likes Turner! People put weird shit in your mouth while you sleep and your stuff's always disappearing and not coming back!"  
"Someone needs to burn it down," said Klyka. "Preferably with the asshat residents still inside. Nobody would be sorry."  
"Except you when you have to do their work as well as your own," said Kiko, tearing a piece off of his donut.  
"People stab each other in the hallway," said Rufert, eyes big. "You have to be a special kind of crazy to like living there."  
"And we're not, fortunately," said Kikoskia.  
"Where do you live?" said Arix. Kikoskia smiled.  
"Promise not to evict us?"  
"Why would it?"  
"There's an abandoned building down by Shade Tree."  
"Several, right?" Shade Tree was slum. Bad buildings, not enough humans and not enough lighting. One of these days it would go up in flames.  
"Yeah. We've fixed it up. We live there, and two others. I'm not technically part of the legion but I help them out occasionally."  
"Where do the rest of you live?"  
Klyka laughed. "Rest of us? We don't need help."  
"But that's… four and a half? A skeleton legion is a minimum of six, right?"  
"Nobody bothers us if we do our work and don't complain."  
"Alright." They probably didn't want attention, now that Arix thought of it. Between Rufert and Kiko, they were harboring a lot of politically incorrect humanity. He wondered what the other half of the legion looked like.

As it turned out, he didn't need to wait long. Something flashed past the window, and he caught a glint of armor. A moment later something clawed at the door, which sprang open. A human walked in, out of breath. "Ah. There you are."  
"Hey Necro," said Rufert, looking narrowly at him. "Didn't know you were joining us."  
Necroscope pushed his glasses further up his nose and slung a bag from his shoulder. It thumped heavily onto the floor. "I've got your armor. Put it on."  
"No," said Klyka flatly, leaning back against the counter and glaring at him. Rufert looked concerned. Necroscope sighed.  
"There's a fire in Lowwood."  
"Not ours."  
"Yes it is, they changed the divisions, remember?"  
Klyka said something not very nice. Sammy twitched an eyebrow but did not disagree.  
"How big is it?"  
Necroscope sighed. "I haven't been, but you can see the glare from the street. Big."  
"Can we at least finish our food?" said Rufert. Necroscope shrugged. Sammy disappeared.  
"Yeah, go ahead. But we need to get down there." He noticed Red and Arix in a dazed sort of way. "I don't know who you are but will you come too? You get a small bounty for helping—"  
"If you don't die," said Rufert, holding a donut in his mouth and reluctantly strapping on his armor.  
"And only if the fire is actually contained," said Klyka, sipping his coalsteam in a leisurely fashion.  
"I can hit things with a stick," said Arix.  
"Good," said Necroscope.  
"I have no skills," said Red. "I could probably hit things with a stick also."  
"Drag people away from the flames," said Necroscope. "Can you do that?"  
"Yeah—"  
"He's lying. He can give basic first aid," said Arix.  
"Good. Even better. Look, this never goes well, we need all the help we can get, please help us. Who are you by the way? I'm sorry. Necroscope."  
"I'm Red."  
"Honored."  
"Just… just Red." Kiko glanced at him.  
"And I'm Arix," said Arix, waving. "Yo."  
"I think I've heard of you."  
"Oh, Necroscope," said Kiko, "How's the paper coming? Did you finish it?"  
Necroscope looked at him. " _Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah_. Don't mention that."  
"Oh dear."  
"I fell asleep. When I woke up I couldn't think _and now things are on fire,_ so it's…. I'm going to get kicked out of my class and I'll be in the Guard forever until I die a violent death." He took a breath. "Things are going pretty well you could say. Yeah."  
"Join the club," said Rufert, on the floor, fiddling with a cuisse. Sammy reappeared and pressed a cup of coalsteam into Necroscope's hands.  
"Here. Calm down, now."  
"Thank you." Necroscope was tall, with mouse-colored hair and a chain mail shirt that was worn, but in decent condition. A homemade vest with a white skull painted on black was thrown over it. He looked to be dangling at the desperate edge of sleep deprivation. Something about the solidity of him looked like he'd been well fed growing up, and he was the only one with chain mail. Rufert and Klyka both had the basic black leather armor issued to the Guard. Arix wondered how Necroscope had ended up in the Guard. He had a pronounced Ithakan accent. That could have something to do with it. He slumped slowly onto a chair, staring into his cup.  
"Just drink it," said Rufert, climbing back into his chair and attacking his remaining donut with a forlorn look. "We need to be there fast right? Or what happens? People angry at us?"  
"Ugh." Necroscope slumped onto the counter.  
"Drink the coalsteam and you'll be fine," said Klyka, who still hadn't touched his armor.  
"No. No I won't."  
"Does he give extensions on things like this?" said Kikoskia. Necroscope raised his head and gave him a haunted look.  
"No." Red tried to think of something to say, but then several things happened very rapidly. There was a crash as the unlatched door was flung open and a figure appeared. Red glanced to the side, where there had been a general surge of movement, and realized that everyone was on their feet with weapons out. He glanced back to the door. Human. It closed the door by leaning against it, eyebrow raised.  
"You really shouldn't leave doors unlatched like this."  
"Hell." Necroscope sagged. "I was wondering where you were."  
"Please don't do that ever again," said a mild voice from behind the counter. Red looked behind him. Sammy had evidently caught himself in the act of flinging a very large knife at the intruder, and lowered it slowly.  
"I'm guessing you saw the fire." Said Necroscope. Helloween nodded.  
"Did you write that paper yet?" Necroscope twitched, and his face screwed up. "Oh okay."  
"Where's your armor?"  
"I sold it. You should remember that. It was a while ago."  
"Ugh. Yes. I guess my brain keeps going into denial because of how stupid that is."  
"You're cheerful. Who are our guests?" Kiko made brief introductions. Helloween was polite enough, but there was a jaunty coldness in his smile that made Red squirm. He wore only the most basic piece of armor, a belt with a few reasonably flexible leather plates to cover the abdomen. Zombies liked to go for the soft parts, and the Guard was very strongly encouraged to wear some kind of tummy protection. Nobody liked cleaning up half-eaten entrails. Helloween's hair was jet black, straight, thick, and fell past his shoulders. There was a dusting of hair on his chin. His eyes were the darkest color common in human eyes, a deep red like some ambers, or a glowing ember seen from far away in the dark. Red suddenly wondered if he liked watching things burn. The Guard had a reputation for emotional instability. Some couldn't stand fire, and some became pyromaniacs. "Klyka," he said. "Suit up."  
"Fuck you," said Klyka. But he obeyed. His cup was finally empty, which might have had something to do with it. Sammy gave Hell a cup of coalsteam.  
"Here. You'll need this."  
"Thanks." Again, things moved very quickly, and Red took a moment to comprehend what had happened. Helloween had drained his cup quickly while Sammy stood watching him, and just as he started to lower it, Sammy jabbed him in the ribs, caught the cup, and sprang backwards out of range of a return swipe. "Why did you do that?!"  
"Don't burst in on people like that. A lot of them are very nervous, and will react badly, like you just did. Fortunately you weren't holding anything pointy, just my cup." He walked away to wash it. Helloween stared after him.

Rufert fished a fire axe out of the bag and hung it on his belt, then stood and stretched with a grunt. "I guess we're going places."

 **A/N: I apologize for the anachronistic coffee reference in ch.2. It has been expunged, and replaced with coalsteam.  
I apologize for the insane sleep-deprivation-induced rambling in the author note of ch.1, it has also been expunged.  
I apologize for the anachronistic daytime sky in the original cover picture, I am currently in my Minecraft world at ****_night_** **, setting myself on fire repeatedly again, to get a better screenshot to use. I wonder what the villagers think. I need to write more chapters for Hyoo Mun.  
Necroscope86 I barely even know, seriously why is this name here, I'm sorry, ignore that he's here  
except… continuity joke: he recently quit making videos, and here, he's trying to quit working with the Guard, or at least get to a point where he'd be able to, so… well I think it makes sense anyway  
Helloween4545 is legit insane  
Also the cat, as I've pointed out, is in no way meant to accurately depict his namesake, but dang, he's getting pretty cool in his own right. Let me mention that story-Ween does not have slow reflexes. **

**Watcher321, don't doubt yourself! Have a cookie! You have done well. I apparently have not, if Sammy "doesn't have the right vibes," but oh well, I specifically said this wasn't supposed to be 100% accurate.**


	4. Finally the Flames Show Up

**A/N: Couldn't write for about a week, not because I was busy (I SHOULD have been—Midterms approacheth, yikes, good luck to anyone else going through this) but because I just couldn't. I have food sensitivities and when I eat something that doesn't like me it messes with me for quite some time, in strange ways. Anyway, while I was not doing actual writing I realized that the intro to Unseen Stars blatantly does not fit with some things that have since developed. (Not too many of you have actually read Unseen Stars, so it's not a terrible problem, but still.) This annoyed me greatly. I resolved to fix it.**

 **It's time to bring in a certain person. A person who's been here all along, but hasn't been seen, because he's had more important things to do than appear in random narratives populated by the sorts of plebs I write about. But now my bungling has caught his interest. He's going to fix it.**

"Wait here."  
The Imperial Guardsman who'd brought him left, and Petra looked around the room he'd been placed in. It didn't look like any kind of reception room, but then it didn't look like an execution room either, which was good. It might have been used as a dining room, or a small ballroom, but at the moment it was empty except for a vague shapes of furniture under dustsheets, pushed against the wall. And, of course, the Imperial Guard, several of which were stationed between windows like braziers, looking keenly at him. The place was dim, lit with only a few torches, enough light to keep it safe. Reflections of the lights flickered as if from far away in the dark polished stone floor. It was quiet, except for a low rush of wind through one window that stood open. Petra wondered why it was open, and if it was broken and wouldn't shut.  
Petra eyed the guardsman standing to his right, who didn't seem at all averse to staring back, although he didn't speak. Petra decided it was a staring contest and glared at the man without blinking for several seconds. He jumped when the man's face did something strange. The guardsman, grinning now, repeated the motion. He was wriggling his nose. Petra didn't even know you could do that. He tried to copy the motion and succeeded in flaring his nostrils. The guardsman seemed amused.  
There was a crash as the doors were flung open behind him, and Petra's shadow suddenly stretched very black in front of him. He wheeled around. Two torchbearers came in and stopped a short distance from him. Three people followed. Two were imperial advisors; one of which was Astin, the Royal Scientist, a position the Emperor had made up just for the hell of it and to accommodate him. He was an easygoing fellow with short hair and a kind, dark eye. He wore simple clothes that belied his station. Lady Lexia, walking beside him, had no such scruples and wore a dress that glittered faintly as she walked, a color darker than the sky but more brilliant than the sea, with a light a bit like each. Soft brown hair was pulled back from her face. Petra grudgingly admitted that she was beautiful. He'd gotten into a fight with a man over the question once. How, and _why_ , had that started, anyway? Had they been drunk? Probably. But his attention quickly locked onto the man walking in front, tall and gaunt, dressed in black like the Guard and carrying a long sword with the ease of practice. A short beard clung to his jawline. "Hello. Bob? No, it's not Bob. Dangit! Who are you?"  
"…Petra, my augustus." Petra bowed low, wondered what he could possibly have fucked up badly enough to get the emperor's attention. Said emperor snapped his fingers.  
"Petra, right."  
"Um." Said Astin. "Where's the experiment..?"  
"Hush, it's rude to call people 'experiment' to their face," said Strandquist. Astin blinked.  
"Oh." Lady Lexia glanced at Petra. "Well, that's a bit awkward."  
Oh fuck. Oh God. Oh shit. Oh shit. What did I do?  
"Well. Petra. You're in my intelligence network."  
"Yes, my augustus."  
Strandquist smiled at him, sinking his hands into his pockets. "I have some questions about your method."  
Petra couldn't summon any pleasantries. He didn't think "Just fucking kill me and get it over with" would be helpful.  
Strandquist continued talking. "Apparently you made void-eyedness a question of race? Why would you do that?"  
Petra still couldn't think of anything to say.  
"Did I tell you to do that?"  
Finally words came. One word, at least. "No."  
"Well then." Strandquist still had a faint smile, but he'd lowered his head and his expression was stern. "Are you trying to start an uprising?"  
"No, my augustus!"  
"Well, then. I'm not sure what you were trying to do. You certainly angered the mages. That's not something I asked for." Strandquist folded his arms and gazed down at Petra, who was mentally writhing. "I asked you to do one thing. Just one thing." He held up one finger. "Void eyes are not bound by race, that's a myth. And racism is something we need to avoid in this city if at all possible."  
"They're not the same, my augustus?"  
"What? Good heavens no. You can't just discriminate against someone based on heredity. It makes no sense."  
"But void eyes…"  
"Are evil!"  
"Yes, my augustus."  
"Well. I'm sure you won't do it again."  
"No, my augustus, never." Would they really let him go?  
"Good. I don't like to lose good workers." Strandquist smiled. "I've sent out a special detachment to clean up the hideous mess you made. In a few days, if we're lucky, it'll be as if it never happened."  
"I… cannot thank you enough, my augustus."  
"Oh, but you can! You see, I've been curious about something for a few months now." Astin, recognizing his cue, produced a notebook and stylus and began jotting down notes, glancing impassively at Petra, who was yet again fearing for his life. "Now, we were in here for a reception, and I noticed that the roof of the greenhouse comes close to this one window, here. The one that's open. And I wondered, could a man jump that far? Now, I could ask one of the Guard to do it, but you know, they're a bit busy. You won't have much to do, though, will you? We'll need to let this little problem of yours blow over before you start working again. So, if you miss the roof and break your legs, it won't be—oh! That's another thing. I'm not sure if the fall would kill you or not." Lady Lexia watched Petra, not without some sympathy. Astin kept taking notes. "Knowing that, however, I'm sure you'll do well on your jumping!"  
"I… My augustus, why…"  
"For science, man! And also because I asked you."  
Well, there you go. The emperor could have just had him assassinated, but he was giving him the equivalent of a slap on the wrist.  
…a slap on the wrist that might very well kill him. But what could he do but accept?

"You should get a running start, from at least ten blocks back," said Astin. His voice was flat. Strandquist, who looked highly amused, was sitting on a sheet-covered table and sipping a cup of the best quality coalsteam. Lady Lexia was examining the surroundings with interest. Petra was doubting his ability to force himself out that window. "Right. Now you'll want to run really fast so the force carries you forwards. The question is whether the force of the ground pulling you down will be more powerful than the force of you sprinting forwards and result in you not reaching the roof. I've measured the distance and It's—"  
"The ground pulls one me?"  
Astin looked mildly at him. "Have you ever noticed a tendency to float away into the air?"  
"I… no, my lord?"  
"That's the ground exerting a force on you."  
"Why?"  
"Good question. Jump out the window. For science. Maybe it'll help us figure it out."  
Petra looked at the window. He didn't find that very encouraging, but he nodded.  
"It doesn't look that far! You'll probably make it!" said Lady Lexia. "…Probably."  
Petra took a deep breath. No need to drag this out any longer. "Right, I'm… I'll do it.."  
"Go ahead," said Emperor Strandquist, sipping his coalsteam. Petra wondered vaguely why he was drinking the stuff in the middle of the night, but then he didn't have time to think about it, because he was running, and the window was suddenly closer, closer, much closer—far too close—right in front of him, and Astin was watching intently, and Lady Lexia's hand was over her mouth, and the Emperor looked pleased with himself—Petra fumbled, but somehow, there was nothing under his feet, nothing but blackness. Blackness scattered with lights all around, except for the blaze of torches on the Imperial Hill, falling away into blackness where the city encroached. Except for one area of orange, far off to his right. A haze of bright, leaping orange, and a dark mass above it, blotting out the stars.  
He hit the edge of the roof and fell, flailing, to the ground.  
It didn't kill him. It didn't leave him feeling his best, either. He'd just gotten his lungs working again when Astin's head appeared silhouetted against the torchlight far above. "Are you dead."  
Petra had to catch his breath first. "Only mostly dead, my lord."  
"Good." The head withdrew. A moment later it was back, but looking away from him, out into the city.  
"Is Lowwood normally that bright?"  
Lady Lexia appeared behind him and stood on tiptoe to look over his head, hand resting on his shoulder. "I was wondering that too."  
Strandquist appeared, easily towering above both of them. "Oh. Nope, I don't think that's normal."  
"I'll just lie here and slowly die of sadness, then," said Petra. Strandquist noticed him.  
"Oh hello! Look at him, not dead! Where's that healer?" there were voices talking upstairs. Astin and Lexia remained at the window, watching the flames and speaking quietly. Petra closed his eyes. He'd done it, anyway. And he wasn't dead.  
A large man in colorful robes with his hair tied into a poof on the top of his skull entered the room just as the emperor was finishing his coalsteam. "Hey. Did I miss the party?"  
"Oh yeah. We made a guy jump out a window." Said Astin.  
"What! Aaah. Oh well."  
"Someone's started a fire, Harambe, if you like watching flames," said Strandquist gesturing to the window. Harambe walked over to look.  
"Oh, already? Aren't we losing a lot of city doing this?"  
The emperor nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Odd, isn't it. I passed the new declaration just last week."  
"The one declaring death as the penalty for superfluous arson! Right? See, I actually read the things!" Lady Lexia bounced happily. Strandquist sighed.  
"That one. It seemed necessary." He looked into his empty cup and made angry, caffeine-desiring gestures with it at the servant standing by the door, who took it and sprinted away to rectify the situation. "Well, we're seeing how much it helps."  
"It's just been passed, maybe people haven't noticed yet." Said Astin, looking at him with his head slightly tilted.  
"Ooh, something exploded!" said Harambe, nose pressed to the window. Instantly the three others crammed in behind him to watch the leaping flames billow higher, far away on the horizon.  
"Ooooooooooooooh," said the emperor and his advisors.  
Petra got off fairly well. He couldn't walk for a month, but the emperor was nice enough to send him home on a stretcher. And Petra was a much politer person afterwards. So polite, he had trouble doing his job.

 **A/N: It has been fixed. Unseen Stars has been duly censored by Strandquist the Gold's intelligence agents. Let's pretend that never happened.**

 **Alias no I had the braids idea already but then you came up with it independently and I was like "yes I'm doing that but also you should write something about it because that would be awesome" remember?**

 **Also, several people have remarked on Rufert's language. It is one of few things here that is utterly true to life. That does not mean that I the author condone it. As far as personal standards go, I side with Kiko, who, you may notice, does not swear at all. Some characters (and Australia) disagree with us on that. It's OK. I'm not a tyrant. They are allowed to disagree.**

 **Actually, if the thing you most object to about this messed up society is the fact that some people swear, you might have a problem with how you think about things. "The human race is basically crammed into a huge zombie-infested city, waiting to die out, and almost everyone has untreated PTSD, people are starving to death, houses are on fire, racism is a thing… pretty standard so far OH MY SWEET CINNAMON BUNS, DID THAT MAN JUST SAY A BAD WORD?"**

 **Thank you to Speedy Jellyfish and my other friends for letting me caricature you in ridiculous ways in strange fanfic  
But hey I made you rich and powerful, that's got to count for something, right **


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